War of the Werelords Read Free Page A

as his long face flushed with anger. “I return to court to find you trying to kill our guest?”
    â€œShe’s no guest of mine,” snorted Brand, glaring at the Werestallion, who positioned himself between the duke and the girl. “Stand aside, Conrad.”
    â€œWhy?” said the Horselord. “So you may harm her?”
    â€œSo I may turn her out of my city!” shouted the Bull.
    â€œThen you turn my brethren and me out, too,” replied Conrad, gradually shifting back to human form as his temper subsided. “Whitley is a friend to the people of the Longridings. She is an ally of ours.”
    â€œOf yours, young Horselord.”
    â€œOf ours,” repeated Conrad, pointing at the girl as her fur receded. “The Bears of Brackenholme have suffered more than anyone in this war, yet still they fight on. I witnessed her brother slain at the hands of King Lucas and saw many of her people butchered on the street in Cape Gala. We owe them our freedom, Your Grace. Don’t treat her this way. The Wolf is our ally.”
    â€œYours, perhaps,” said the Bull, shifting slowly back to human form, as more plaster crumbled free from the bricks at his back. “But not mine. You remember my son, girl?”
    Whitley shook her head, unable to recall if she had ever met him. “I cannot say I do.”
    â€œHe was a ward to Baron Ewan, the Ramlord of Haggard. Just a lad, my dear, sweet Dorn. And then he met your friend the Wolf. Death followed swiftly, Bearlady. He took up arms alongside Drew Ferran and died for his troubles. I can never forgive the Wolf for what happened to my son.”
    Whitley cast her mind back, the memories now returning, but cloudy and distorted. The grim events of Lord Dorn’s death had been lost among the hundreds of others she had witnessed in the intervening time. But Brand spoke the truth. The young Bull had aided Drew in freeing the prisoners of the Goatlord Kesslar in Haggard. Dorn was murdered for his troubles, little more than a boy, the same age as Drew.
    â€œGo with her if you must, Horselord,” muttered Brand miserably, remaining in the alcove’s shadows. “Take your brother Stallions with you. But count me out. I owe the Wolf nothing.”

2
    K ILLER C HARM
    DREW FERRAN STARED at the tarnished mirror fixed to the wall, the swinging lanterns and jangling ephemera providing a grating chorus around him as the ship gently rocked. Oddities from every corner of the Seven Realms had been collected down the years by the
Maelstrom
’s
skipper, finding their way onto the ceiling of the captain’s cabin. Discolored and clouded though the mirror’s surface was, there was no mistaking the young man who glowered back. His thick mop of black hair had grown down to his shoulders, in desperate need of a good cut, while his jaw was peppered with the dark stubble of a beard. His skin was tanned dark, thanks to months on the road and at sea, crossing oceans and continents, exposed to the elements.
    Had it really been almost two years since his journey had begun? Drew closed his eyes, thinking back to the farmhouse where he had grown up, the night of the storm and the beast that had followed. He shook his head and grimaced, the memory of his murdered foster mother flashing through his mind, her throat torn by the Ratlord Vanmorten. Drew had changed so much, and he was not alone. What had become of his old friend Hector, the Boarlord of Redmire? He had left his bookish friend behind in Highcliff, thinking he would be safe. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Hector’s path had been a dark one as he dabbled in necromancy, ultimately taking him north to Icegarden. Was he still there? Could he truly have become the monster people said he was?
    When Drew opened his eyes he was no longer alone. The grinning visage of Count Vega had appeared in the mirror at his back.
    â€œBy Sosha, we could be related!” the Sharklord